


Mirror of Erised

by archangelgaybriel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archangelgaybriel/pseuds/archangelgaybriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean isn’t stupid. He knows that the mirror is one of those fancy magical ones, those “I can see your deepest inner desire thing” - honestly, he wouldn’t expect any less from a bunch of suit-clad dudes obsessed with all that’s ethereal - and that what he saw was what he wanted most in life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror of Erised

**Author's Note:**

> So I actually wrote this a couple of weeks ago and I quite like it so I have no idea why I posted it on [tumblr](http://theprofoundbond.co.vu/post/123988369036/mirror-of-erised) and not on here ;-;; I hope you like it!!

There’s a mirror in one of the bunker’s rooms.

At first Dean doesn’t think much of it; it very much looks like any other ordinary mirror - unscratched glass with a thick golden frame, decorated by careful, ornate swirls.  
  
It sits there, unmoving, its presence almost unnerving. He happens to pass by that room one day by coincidence and his eye catches sight of the intricate design of the wood. It’s as if there’s a certain magnetic force, pulling him towards the room and towards the mirror. He sees himself there, all the same - the same bags under his eyes, the same furrow in his brow and the same wrinkles on his forehead.  
  
It has that mysterious, peculiar vibe about it. Gingerly, he reaches up and touches the glass.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He didn’t know what he expected.

It’s when his feet start to move away that he suddenly sees Cas in the mirror, standing by the door behind him, dressed in his worn AC/DC shirt and boxers. He hadn’t been there a second ago, and Dean hadn’t heard his footsteps coming down the hallway. Strange.

He’s wearing that familiar look on his face, the one he always makes when he’s confused, and then he walking towards Dean.

“Dude,” Dean begins, a grin beginning to form on his face as he swivels around. “Look at this cool-ass-”  
  
Cas isn’t there.  
  
But- he could swear-  
  
Dean’s head snaps back to the mirror, and there’s Cas, right there, standing behind him. He’s looking at Dean with a fond look on his face, full of so much love, and it’s so unexpected that Dean stumbles back as though he’s just been hit.  
  
Uncertainty and trepidation courses through his veins, and his mind is telling him to get the fuck out right now, to go and check on Cas to see if he’s alright, but then he finds that his feet can’t move and his heart is in his throat because there’s Cas, sidling up beside him, his hand slipping into Dean’s, their fingers lacing together.  
  
And right on his right hand he espies a glimpse of silver.  
  
It’s unmistakable, its presence as clear as day, a simple silver ring wrapped comfortably around his fourth finger. He swears he can feel the weight of it against his hand.  
  
That means-  
  
Something snaps in him then. Dean practically dashes out of the room, fear and disbelief gripping his heart like a vice, and in his haste he stumbles over his feet.

* * *

  
Truth be told, he’s thought about it a lot. Holding Cas’ hand, intertwining their fingers together, having a life beyond the one they’re living, a life with less hunting and more lazy afternoons.  
  
Dean isn’t stupid. He knows that the mirror is one of those fancy magical ones, those “I can see your deepest inner desire thing” - honestly, he wouldn’t expect any less from a bunch of suit-clad dudes obsessed with all that’s ethereal - and that what he saw was what he wanted most in life.  
  
It’s why he can’t face Cas the same way anymore, not in the way that he could before. Mornings turn awkward when he can’t return Cas’ gaze as he normally does, he gives stuttered one word answers whenever Cas asks him something as simple as - did you want more coffee? Have you seen that documentary on sock manufacturing? - and he ducks his head and hastens his footsteps whenever he passes Cas in the hallway.  
  
Fantasies are one thing; and so is to dream in the privacy of his mind and concoct up daydreams. But to actually see it before his very eyes is just serves as an unwelcomed, jarring reminder of what he very much craves but can’t have.  
  
He tries to cast away the memory, but he can’t seem to forget the look that Cas gives him in that mirror that afternoon, the one where he’s looking at Dean like he’s all the stars in the sky.  
  
After a week of moping (as Sam coins it), he makes the decision to give one final trip down to the mirror. It’ll be his second and last time.  _Closure_ , he assures himself, and gives himself the luxury of not doubting his reasoning.  
  
The mirror is there, as it always were, almost regal as it sits there at the side of the room, standing out from the piles of methodical, labelled boxes and ordinary furniture.  
  
He draws in a sharp breath when he sees his reflection. It’s there, the exact same as it were before, Cas slipping his hand into Dean’s, the shiny silver band still wrapped around his fourth finger.  
  
He indulges himself. He takes it all in, and let’s himself memorize the curve of Cas’ barely noticeable smile, the way his hand is gripping Dean’s firmly yet tenderly, the way he’s looking at Dean with nothing short of pure adoration.  
  
Something stirs inside him, bitter and vile, rising up his throat and threatening to choke him. He’s jealous. He’s jealous of something that isn’t even real, that hasn’t even happened. He lets out a harsh laugh. He’s jealous of his reflection for having a privilege that he can’t have.  
  
He’s about to turn his back and leave when something catches at the corner of his eye, something that wasn’t there yesterday.  
  
When he faces the mirror, him and Cas are kissing. His entire body clams up, freezing him in position.  
  
It isn’t like what he imagined. It’s much sweeter, softer, gentler and fluid, as though they’ve done it a million times over. He can’t bear to tear his eyes away from the mirror, watching as the scene continues to unfold - Cas slipping his hand up to cup his jaw, Dean’s eyes fluttering shut, Cas lips curving against his own.  
  
Not his own.  
  
Not him.  
  
It’s not real.  
  
The mirror may be speaking the truth, and there might be a selfishness in Dean that wants Cas to love him the same way that he does, but it doesn’t necessarily equate the reality. And the reality is this: Cas is so much bigger than him, so much more than him, all reverent smiles and gentleness. He can’t do this to Cas. He can’t wish for Cas to want him in the same way that he does.  
  
This is closure. This is the end to a beginning that would never come to pass.  
  
When Dean looks back into the mirror, he expects to see a lone figure in it, the mirage gone forever, but it’s still the same as before, two people sharing a profound love that isn’t two way. It’s everything he yearns and can’t have - he reminds himself - and the image leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.  
  
He exits the room with the image of Cas’ fingers carding through his hair, pulling him closer, an imaginary “ _I love you_ ” ghosting across his lips.

* * *

  
Things are getting better. It’s going at an excruciating pace, but it’s getting better. He’s forcing himself to garner more courage to at least look at Cas in the eye when they speak, clamp down on the waver in his voice when they have a conversation, and skillfully ignore the way Cas’ eyes fall whenever Dean makes an exit as soon as he enters.  
  
He accidentally overhears an ongoing conversation between his brother and Cas one day when he’s going to the kitchen to grab a beer. As soon as he hears their voices floating from the kitchen, he wills himself to walk away but his feet stay, solid against the ground.  
  
“I don’t know what I’ve done,” Cas says quietly, his voice laced with defeat. “I don’t know why he keeps avoiding me. Have I upset him? Have…have I done anything wrong?”  
  
“You haven’t, Cas,” comes Sam’s comforting tone. There’s a pause. “Knowing him, he’s just being stupid.”  
  
He wasn’t being stupid. He was doing the right thing. In the meanwhile it may hurt, but in the long time it’ll benefit the both of them. Cas will move on and fall in love with someone an infinite times more charming and lovely and clever than he is, and live the apple pie life that Dean wants him to have. Time will tell.  
  
It’ll all work out in the end.

* * *

  
“Dean,” growls a very pissed off Sam, who barges into his room and slams open the door. Dean arches an eyebrow at him from where he’s lying, reading on the bed. “What on earth is wrong with you?”  
  
If he knew Sam would get this pissed at him for throwing away his non-fat yoghurt, Dean would’ve just hidden it. “I’m sorry about your yoghurt, but honestly,  _banana-flavoured_ yoghurt?”  
  
If anything, Sam just looks more frustrated. “This is about Cas, and the shitty way you’ve been treating him for the past few weeks. Do you know how upset he’s been?”  
  
Oh. His chest twists painfully, and his grip on the book tightens. When he doesn’t reply, Sam speaks again.  
  
“I beg you,” he says, but it comes out more of a resolute demand then a plead. “Go talk to him. At least once.”  
  
 _Closure_ , Dean reminds himself. “Fine. Where’s he?”  
  
“At one of the rooms along the hallway,” comes Sam’s reply, and Dean’s heart sinks in his chest.  
  
It’s that room, the one with the mirror where he finds the ex-angel. He makes sure that his footsteps are loud enough to be heard when he enters the room, only to see Cas, standing in front of the mirror, his fingertips tracing absentmindedly along it’s surface. There’s only his reflection in the mirror, and nothing else.  
  
It’s Cas who speaks up first.  
  
“I know I’m not an angel anymore,” Cas murmurs quietly, letting his hand fall to his side. “But I can sense powerful magic, and I know a magical object when I see one.”  
  
Dean remains artfully silent, his lips pursed, his eyes trained on the mirror.  
  
And  _fuck_ , he can still see himself in there, the memory hitting him like a freight train. He’s there, in that fucking mirror along with Cas- no, fake Cas, along with every one of their fake kisses, their fake touches, their fake gazes, fake smiles-  
  
“Dean,” Cas says, softer this time, and it brings him back to reality. “What do you see?”  
  
 _Nothing_ , is his knee-jerk response, but the words get caught at the tip of his tongue and he doesn’t have enough courage to say it out loud. He finds himself wanting to say:  _You. I see you and me and the forever I want to have with you._  
  
“If you think that I don’t want this,” Cas murmurs, looking distractedly at the mirror. “You’re a fool.”  
  
“You,” he finally says, and in an instant there’s a thousand emotions washing over him at once - fear, panic, anxiety, the overwhelming sense of relief. He doesn’t dare chance up a look at Cas; so he stares at his shoes and the little scuff marks at its front. “I see you.”  
  
He barely notices the quick, haste steps of Cas as he crosses the room and crashes his lips against his own, all six years of pent-up fervor. It takes him a moment to register the new, frantic pressure on his lips and when it finally sinks in, Dean’s hands fly up to grab at the lapels of Cas’ trenchcoat, dragging him impossibly closer, parting his mouth to sweep his tongue across Cas’ mouth.  
  
They pull away, cheeks flushed and lips kissed red, panting against each other’s mouths. This time, Dean speaks first.  
  
“I was so scared,” he admits, and now, now it feels so stupid to say this out loud.“I was so scared of losing you. I thought- I thought that if I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t ever have to face losing you.”  
  
Cas silences him with another harsh kiss which eventually wanes into a softer one, a more gentle one, reminiscent of the one in the mirror but not quite there yet. “I want you, Dean Winchester. For longer than you could have ever imagined.”  
  
Dean rests his forehead against Cas’, eyes squeezed shut, tears brimming at the corner of his eyes. “I didn’t know I was allowed.”  
  
“You’re allowed,” Cas murmurs, his eyes transfixed with Dean’s in an intense gaze. “You’re allowed. Anything.”  
  
“I want you,” Dean gives himself the privilege of saying out loud. “I want you, Cas.”  
  
“Anything,” Cas promises, his tone full of earnest, him surging forward to capture Dean’s lips with his own. “Anything.”

* * *

And that’s how it begins.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave kudos and comments if you liked this it  They help me fuel my soul.


End file.
